


Lost in New York City

by raventree



Category: White Collar
Genre: Acquired Brain Injury, Adventathon, Central Park, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied June, Implied Peter/El, Memory Loss, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raventree/pseuds/raventree
Summary: Neal knows New York City holds the answers,  he's just not sure what the questions are.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the second year in a row, I volunteered to fill an Advent day while down with the fandom blahs. Oh well. 
> 
> Not mine, no money, etc.

Neal dropped gratefully on to the empty park bench, leaning heavily against his cane as he massaged the aching muscles in his leg. When the worst of the pain receded, he pulled his phone out and checked the map app, surprised at how far he’d walked. Neal had set out on what was supposed to be a short stroll on the other side of the park, close to a subway line that would take him back to his hotel with a minimum of bother. It was no wonder his leg had nearly given out on him. He had gotten caught up in the strange familiarity of it all, felt as though each turn in the foot path should bring an old friend in to view or spark some memory just waiting for the right moment…

But nothing had, and now he sat in weak December sun, miles from where he’d meant to be, waiting for his leg to recover enough to make the return journey. He searched the nearby streets for a taxi, without much luck. Of course luck had all but deserted Neal in the last year and it didn't look likely to change in the near future. How did the saying go? If he didn't have bad luck, he wouldn't have any luck at all?

Neal sighed and looking for something to distract him from his defeatist thoughts, examined the facades on the far side of the streets. The corner building caught his eye, made his fingers itch to put pencil to paper in a way he knew would prove entirely useless. The accident in Paris had robbed him of more things than just his memory. It was frustrating beyond belief to know how easily a sketch, a painting, a sculpture should take form, when he couldn't even remember his own existence before waking up in a Parisian hospital bed with half a dozen pins holding his leg together and a life that, as far as he was concerned, could have been anyone's.

  
His grip tightened around the cane, fingers turning white. New York City had been the one thing he truly remembered with any clarity; telling the nurses about Central Park, the Met and the Guggenheim. He told them about Rockefeller Center at Christmas time, ablaze with lights and people celebrating the holidays. He hadn't said a word about the tall, authoritative man and the elegant, dark-haired woman he'd dreamed of, kissing in front of the huge tree. Neal had come to New York for them, wandered Rockefeller, hoping for even a glimpse of the couple. He’d lasted three days before deciding he needed a break from the unrelenting Christmas cheer.

A well dressed woman walked past his bench, her small dog pausing to bark excitedly at him before being called to heel. Neal ignored the odd look she gave him. It wasn't the first time people had stared. The scar along his jaw wasn't quite hidden by the beard he’d grown in an attempt to lessen the effect.

Neal stood. It was getting cold, so it was time to go, even if his leg wasn't entirely up to walking across Central Park a second time.

 

 


End file.
